


Live! From New York (A Brittana Fanfic)

by godblessthefandom (Browncoat101)



Category: Glee, Saturday Night Live
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:32:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Browncoat101/pseuds/godblessthefandom
Summary: New York City is abuzz! The darling of Broadway, Santana Lopez, is set to meet the darling of Saturday Night, Brittany S. Pierce, on the one and only stage: Saturday Night Live. When sparks fly and they get closer, can they navigate their careers, personal lives, and the paparazzi to have a normal date?





	Live! From New York (A Brittana Fanfic)

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome! This is a Glee fanfic starring Brittana, and most of the rest of the cast. I've dug deep to bring out my first Brittana fic of 2018. Hope you enjoy! Yes, Britt is Kate McKinnon, and Santana is Lin Manuel Miranda, and everybody else is everybody else. Kenan Thompson is always Kenan because he's going to be on SNL forever (don't fight me on this!). I'm planning on this to be one of the longer fics, but we'll see how often I update. Also! Leslie Jones is there because she's amazing.

Brittany raced down the hallway dodging interns, staffers, writers, and crew. She careened around a rack of costumes, and nearly ran head first into a llama, skidding around it at the last possible second, and grazing it’s fur gently as she ran by. 

“Brittany, they’ve started the goodnights!”

The voice boomed behind Brittany, and she felt it’s insistence push her even faster down the hallway. It had been their director, Shannon Beiste, and her tone left no room for argument. She pumped her legs a bit harder, skirting around a desk and through a set of double doors. Arms waved her onwards, and she gracefully leaped onto the stage, wrapping her arms around Jane Hayward. 

“You’re late, Britt.” Jane smirked, accepting Brittany’s hug, and waving to the crowd. 

“Yeah, well, I got a little caught up.”

“Caught up with what? You were in the last sketch!” 

“Yeah, and you saw the outfit they had me in, I had to change.”

“Beiste is going to literally turn you into a scorch mark.” 

The crowd quieted and Melissa McCarthy waved once more for good measure. 

“Thank you to the cast, the crew and Lorne Michaels! Have the great night!”

The music kicked in, and it made further conversation impossible without shouting directly into the person’s ear. Brittany separated from Jane and walked to give Melissa a hug. 

“You did awesome!” 

“Thanks! And you in that nun sketch, oh my god. Goddamn, Britt, I almost laughed about six different times!”

Brittany smiled, and hugged a few more cast members before falling back towards the back of the stage. She was coming up on her fifth year as a featured player on Saturday Night Live, and honestly it was a dream come true. As a kid, she would videotape episodes of the show and watch them over and over. She’d imagine she was up onstage with greats like Amy Poehler, Mya Rudolph and Molly Shannon. And now she was here. On this stage, doing the goodnights. She had been on the cover of Vanity Fair, and Elle Magazine, and though she wasn’t too excited about that side of things, she was happy that people found humor and laughter in her sketches. One fan favorite had spawned a whole slew of spin-off sketches, and even talk of her own TV show, but Brittany resisted that particular siren song. She loved being on SNL. It was her dream, and her life now, and she wouldn't trade it for the world. As the final strains of music faded, Brittany made her way towards the back of the stage, and out another door. She filed through some of the crowd that was meandering towards the exit, smiling and waving as she jogged, and through another door. 

Lorne Michaels, their boss and the executive producer, had a lot of rules about what was allowed on the show. Everyone had to be at the host’s dinner on Tuesday night. Nobody but Kenan got to skip out on the Friday morning early rehearsal. The first years always buy coffee on the first and last night’s show of the season. And at the end of the show, every show, everybody is on the stage as the first strands of “Waltz in A” started and Leon’s piano hit those notes, and stays until Lenny’s alto sax high note shakes the stands. It was a tradition that Brittany believed began in the 70’s. It was kind of a tribute to the audience in a way. It was the cast’s job to make them laugh and bear the brunt of their judgement, and so they did. Then after the music was done, they all  headed to the after party (even Kenan had to make an appearance), and as long as they shook the host’s hand, they could leave whenever they wanted. But Brittany had a different type of tradition. 

Ever since she was a little kid, and she’d spent Saturday nights sneaking into the living room, and quietly flipping on the TV to NBC, after the show was done, she’d go back to her room, and lie on the floor next to her window, looking up at the stars and thinking about all she’d seen. It was something she’d done even after she’d moved to Chicago to join Second City, and would have late night shows at her friend Holly’s bar, ‘Holliday’s’. It was true after she’d moved to New York, and she’d spent nights waiting tables, and then that one overnight job at the morgue. Saturdays were hers. Just her, 30 Rock, and the stars. 

And so she climbed up a set of steps and then another, reaching a landing that the techs used to move lights in and out easily. She pulled a key out of her pocket (a gift from their lead tech Kitty) and was out in the crisp January air, leaning back on the railing with a sigh. Of course, this was New York. A couple million lights would have to go out for her to see the moon, but this was as close to it as she could get, and she accepted it gladly, and settled on being grateful for the life she was living. 

Other than Kitty, there wasn’t anyone else who knew about her spot, and she’d rather it stayed that way. Though she had gotten some flak from her castmates when they asked about where she disappeared off to for half an hour. But in some small ways, it was just another in a long line of traditions. Lorne had them with his rules, Brittany had them, even Jane had some. She’d always text her mom right before she went onstage, and wait for the response. She’d gotten yelled at by Beiste about it once before, but everyone knew that Jane didn’t touch the stage without the text from her mom. She claimed it was a calming thing, but they all knew the truth: She was afraid of bad luck. 

Another castmate who came around the same time as her, Noah Puckerman, always touched the “Farley Was Here” sign right before dress rehearsal. Tina Cohen-Chang and Jane had an elaborate handshake that started exactly at 10:59:30 and ended at 10:59:59 Artie Abrams, the first disabled cast member in the show’s history, had a little wheelchair dance that he did that included a set number of wheelies, spin outs, and hair pin turns. They all had their quirks, in a way. But Brittany kept her after show excursions a secret, still. Maybe not because she was afraid of ridicule, but perhaps because when she kept them to herself they stayed hers alone. She didn’t have to share them with anyone else. 

She had lost herself in her thoughts when a vibration from her pocket shook her into consciousness. It was Jane. 

_ Hey, you still on your post show sabbatical? ;) _

Brittany smiled as she typed out a reply. 

_ Not that it’s any of your business, Hayward. Are things heating up? _

_ Yeah, and Lorne is pulling the old man routine. Better get down here before he’s off to take his supplements and hit the hay.  _

_ You do realize that if he ever heard you say that, he’d fire you on the spot, right? _

There was a moment of ellipses appearing and disappearing before the phone vibrated again. 

_ Is that a threat, Pierce? _

A moment later after a series of rather expressive emojis (one of which was an eggplant), Brittany smiled, slipped her phone back into her pocket and climbed back down from her hiding place. She was nearly to the party when she ran into Beiste again. It wasn’t surprising. Beiste was probably one of the very few people in the cast and crew who was exempt from the after-party. She hated the chaos and the noise, and she’d been working on the show so long that Lorne didn’t bother trying to convince her. 

Brittany did her best not to meet Shannon’s eye, but the other woman stopped short in her path. 

“Pierce.” 

“Oh, hey, Shannon, how’s it going?” 

“You were late for the Goodnights, and now you’re late for the after party. What do you think Lorne will have to say about this?”

“Uh, yeah, well-”

“Anyway, I won’t rat you out, cause you had a terrific show tonight, and because I have some big news for you.”

There was something nearly irresistible in Shannon’s tone, and Brittany had to keep herself from hopping anxiously from foot to foot. Shannon was always the best source for news and gossip around the show, and even more than Lorne knew exactly who was sleeping with who, who was writing with who and who was planning an exit. 

“Remember how Evangeline Lily was supposed to be hosting a couple of weeks from now?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, she had to drop out cause of a scheduling conflict, and now Santana Lopez is in.”

Brittany’s eyes grew wide. “Santana Lopez? Are you serious?”

“Yep! Apparently she’s always wanted to be on the show, and she knows somebody who knows Lorne, and the whole thing is happening pretty fast. I just found out about it this morning.”

“So, like in a couple weeks?” The awe was still in Brittany’s voice. 

“Three to be exact. And I know that you have all the posters from her show in your dressing room, so that will give you plenty of time to make it look a little less like Kathy Bates from Misery.”

Brittany wanted to think of a snappy comeback, but she was practically in the middle of a serious freak out. Santana Lopez, the darling of Broadway, winner of Tonys, Emmys and and Oscar, the woman who’d performed for President Obama at the White House was coming to their show, and would be mere feet from her at any given time. She tried swallowing a couple times, but there was a lump the size of Nebraska in her throat. 

After a few moments, Shannon’s grin became even wider, and she patted Brittany on the back a few times. “I’m really glad I told you now, so you can get this out of your system before anybody sees you. Catch you later, Pierce.” 

With that, she turned away, whistling a happy tune before heading out the double doors that lead to the elevators. Brittany’s head seemed to stop swimming, and she turned, racing down the hall at a breakneck speed. 

The after party normally started in the big rehearsal space in the studio, before someone got the grand idea (usually around 3AM) to head to a bar downtown somewhere. The place was usually set up with some tables, and music, and it felt a bit more like a high school dance, than a big time after party. Even so, none of the cast minded much, because it was their place to finally unwind after the show, and stress out about the sketches that didn’t go to plan, and celebrate the ones that went over really well. 

Brittany came around the corner, almost running headfirst into Kenan on his way out, and with a nod, slowed her run to a jog, spotting Jane and making a beeline towards her. 

“Jane, Jane! Hey, sorry.” 

She nodded to Katie, the makeup artist, and pulled Jane away. 

“Britt, what the hell-?”

“I just found out that Santana Lopez is going to be hosting the show at the beginning of February?!”

Jane took a moment to absorb that information. “Santana Lopez? The one from that Billie Holiday show? The one you’ve been trying to get tickets to for weeks?”

“Yes!”

Jane thought for another moment.” What are you going to do with all of your posters? You have like a million of them. She’s going to think you’re a stalker, Britt.”

There was a note of pity in Jane’s voice, but Brittany ignored it. “You don’t get it Jane, we’ll have her here, up close and personal. I mean, she’s so awesome. I can’t wait!” 

“Yeah, you’ve just got to make sure that you act like a normal human instead of a fangirl.”

“When have you ever seen me fangirl?” Brittany said, incredulously. 

“How about when Hillary Clinton came by? What about the episode with Charlize Theron?” 

“I mean, yeah, but they’re like my heroes-”

“And as far as I know you don’t own a single Hillary Clinton poster-”

“Not the point, Jane. Look, can you just be happy that we’re going to have some fun, please?”

“She’s going to be great, I can tell. We’ve gotta get her to do a song or something.”

“Now you’re talking!”

“Oh, let’s go find a writer and talk about some sketch ideas.”

Brittany pumped her fist. “I think I saw Sarah back there somewhere, let’s do it.”

With that, she reached for Jane’s arm and headed back into the crowd. 

\

“Saturday Night Live?!” 

Santana was doing her best to focus on her vocal warm-ups, but Sugar’s voice was quite possibly too loud for human beings to ignore, so she set down her sheet music, and gave the other woman her undivided attention. 

“Yes. Saturday Night Live. What’s the problem, Sugar?”

“What do you mean, what’s the problem? You are the star of this show, Santana. You. People come here to see Billie, music and lyrics by Santana Lopez,  _ starring _ Santana Lopez. As long as you’re doing this show, as long as you’ve got the billing, when they buy the tickets, they come to see you.”

“Yeah, and that’s what we have an understudy for.”

“An understudy is something-” Sugar looked around suspiciously. “ _ Bad _ happens. Not because you get bored, and want to do something else.”

Santana pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not about ‘wanting to do something else’, Sugar! I’ve dreamed about being on SNL since I was a kid! I’ve always wanted to host, and now I’m getting my chance. I can’t turn this down!” 

Santana watched the calculations Sugar was going through in her head. 

“Maybe we can push it back a few weeks, you know? Something in March shouldn’t hit us too badly. Though, I guess Spring Break might be a bad time. Hmmm, what about April?”

“They need me in February, Sugar.” 

“I know, I know, but maybe we can work with them a little to a time when it won’t be quite as busy?”

“If we wait on a time when it’s not quite so busy, I won’t be hosting until 2025.”

“You wish your show would have that longevity.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s specifically your wish. I think you might have even sent me a text that mentions the year 2025.”

“We can’t really help it that you’ve written a show that’s sold out every night.”

Santana grabbed her sheet music, and went towards the door. “You’re the producer, Sug, I’m sure you’ll come up with something spectacular. Now, I need to go run through some lines with Mercedes, ciao.”

Santana was out the door in a flash, and could hear Sugar sputtering behind her, but didn’t turn around. As much as she hated putting Sugar in a bind, she was the star of this show, and she figured it was time to start enjoying things.  _ Billie _ was her baby. Conceived out of a biography of the singer she’d read on vacation with her ex-girlfriend, she’d written the entire thing in about a month, rarely sleeping, and living with one of her best friend’s and her friend’s twin brother. 

The premise was simple, documenting the life and legacy of one of the most important people in modern music, and it had definitely been a labor of love. When it was all done, Santana was more than satisfied with the result, but she couldn’t have predicted the groundswell of adoration the public would send her way. It had been on Broadway for a little over six months, and was already outselling her previous musical by a mile. She was proud, and she was happy, but she was exhausted. Then she’d overheard one of their wealthier beneficiaries talking about her dinner with Lorne Michaels, and connections were made. She couldn’t think of a moment she’d been happier since the night her show premiered, and even having to deal with Sugar was worth all of the trouble. Though, she knew that Sugar wouldn’t go quietly, and this certainly wouldn’t be the last time that they had the conversation. But, it was only a week (technically, they would start on Tuesday), and she was sure that the production could continue without her. Bree, her understudy, was practically chomping at the bit to get more time onstage, and the production was basically a fine tuned machine. Honestly, if they couldn’t survive a week without her, what were they even doing there? 

With all of her silent commiserations agreeing with herself, there was still one person that she needed to tell that she dreaded. No, it wasn’t Emma Pillsbury, their producer who, if she had things her way, would have had them scheduling bathroom breaks. It wasn’t her co-star Mercedes Jones, or the bane of her existence (but not-so-terrible scene partner) Rachel Berry. No, the person who she would have the most problem telling was her partner in crime, the person who’d helped turn  _ Billie _ from a mass of ideas and songs into an actual musical: Quinn Fabray. Quinn and Santana had known each other for years, but Quinn had been in the business back when Santana was still pounding out chords on the upright piano in her mom’s basement. She was no nonsense, but she had an ear for a good song, and would often remind Santana of that fact. She had started working on  _ Billie _ almost at the beginning and had had the insight to encourage Santana to keep working on it, even when she herself could barely see the end of the rainbow. 

So, a lot of the success belonged to Quinn, though Santana would never admit it, and it was also thanks to Quinn in no small part, as the musical director and arranger, that the show went off every night without a hitch. She was a woman who liked when things went according to plan. And despised it when they didn’t. It was possible that she would take this news with grace and aplomb, but Santana had her doubts. 

She did actually make her way to Mercedes’ dressing room, and found the other woman perched on a stool in front of her mirror, in the midst of her vocal warm-ups. Mercedes played the role of Ella Fitzgerald, and the musical showcased their relationship from bitter rivals, to one of mutual respect. Of course, it wasn’t all sunshine and buttercups. Billie Holiday died at the age of 44 because of a mixture of drug and alcohol abuse, but the story resonated with audiences so much because of how relatable Santana had been able to make Billie’s story. Playing opposite Mercedes every night, a dynamite performer who Santana had known since almost her first day arriving in New York, had made them closer, and given them both a new respect for one another. 

Santana sat on the couch in Mercedes’ dressing room, watching her hit a series of impossible notes, and couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. 

“What?” asked Mercedes, returned a grin of her own. 

“Oh, nothing, just sitting here hella impressed as usual.”

“Uh huh.” Mercedes said, her grin growing mischievous. “I guess that Sugar chased you out of your own dressing room again.”

“Ding ding ding, circle gets the square.”

“I don’t know why you let her bully you like that. Do you think she’ll let you do SNL?”

“Let?” Santana scoffed. “This is my show, okay? I do what I want, when I want. So far, and since long before we even opened, mind you, I’ve been working my ass off making this perfect, and I really think I deserve a break.”

“Is that how you presented it to Sugar?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then how, exactly?” 

“I’d rather not get into it, but all is good on that front.”

“And Quinn?”

“Oh look, another thing I’d rather not get into.” 

Mercedes got up from her stool, and joined Santana on the couch. “You’re going to have to tell her. And soon, San.”

“What? It’s not like I’m afraid of her or anything. And Sugar is the one who’s making money at this hand over fist, so if anybody has a big stake in it, it’s her.”

“Yeah, but she’s going to have to be the one that puts Bree through all her paces, and gets her in that sweet spot.” 

“And? Emma is the one directing Bree.”

“Then what’s the big deal about telling Quinn?”

“Cause she’s going to make it this big deal! Like, I’m getting tired of the show, like I’m not doing what I need to do, blah blah blah, every day. She did it when we were sharing a place in Queens, and she’ll do it again.”

Mercedes only shrugged and pulled herself up from the couch, reaching for her music. “Look, it’s up to you, but I think you should tell her sooner rather than later.” 

Santana was about to respond, but the nearby door stood open, and a loud voice came in from the hallway. 

“Tell who, what?”

Rachel sauntered in without so much as a knock and placed herself delicately on the couch as well. Santana rolled her eyes, and marched towards the door, looking around outside before pulling the door closed with a firm thud. 

“Santana has to tell Quinn that she’s going to be on SNL in three weeks.”

“Oh, Quinn is not going to like that. When are you going to be there? I want to make sure I get to see the resulting implosion.”

Santana narrowed her eyes at Rachel, and ignored the comment. “You are literally the loudest person in existence, Berry, and yet you still manage to sneak around like a ninja. Haven’t you heard of not listening to people’s conversations? Or knocking, perhaps?”

Rachel raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, but I just happened to be walking by and I heard you guys and I wanted to know what my two favorite co-stars were up to.”

“You’re not a co-star, Rachel, you have third billing.”

Rachel’s megawatt smile didn’t slip for a moment as she recovered. “Tomato, tomah-to. I’m just glad we all get to hang out here together.”

“Oh, hush, Santana, she can hang out here if she wants to.”

“Well, I’ll take that as my cue.” Santana said, opening the door to the hallway again. “I think Emma wants us out there a little early, so be there or be square, nerds.” 

“Just make sure you tell Quinn, Santana!” Rachel shouted as Santana closed the door again behind her violently, but jumped when another voice purred behind her. 

“Tell Quinn what?”

Santana didn’t need to turn around to know who was standing suspiciously close to her back. 

“Dammit, Rachel.” She cursed under her breath. Turning around, she put on one of her warmest smiles. “Quinn! Hey, how’s it going?”

“We had brunch this morning, Santana, why are you being weird?” 

“Nothing, nothing, just glad to see you is all. I think Emma wants us on stage in a bit, we should go get down there. Like a pep talk or something, I’m not sure-”

“You certainly are being weird. And what was Rachel on about?”

“I dunno, Quinn, you know Rachel. Half the time I’m not even sure-”

“Is it about how you want to take a week off and go do Saturday Night Live?”

Santana made a face. “You knew this whole time?!” She yelled, raining down light blows onto Quinn’s shoulders. 

Quinn couldn’t help her small smile, and shielded herself. “Well, yeah, it’s kind of my job to know things.”

“You mean you make it your job to know things.”

“Yeah, that too.”

“So, I guess you’re going to try to talk me out of it?”

Quinn sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Why would I do that, Santana. I know how much you’re looking forward to this. And anyway, I’m not your boss. If I wanted you to not do something, I’d just tell Emma who would then make you not do it.” 

Santana groaned. 

“But… I didn’t do that. I have no interest in keeping you from what you want to do. But remember, we’re in this together. This is your show, but a lot of people have a lot riding on this.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” 

“I know.” Quinn took Santana’s arm, and lead her down the hallway towards the stage. “I just want to make sure that you’re head is in the game. There’s a focus that’s required, and if you remember from your last show.” 

“Oh no.” Santana interrupted, pulling her arm from Quinn’s. “You said you were going to stop bringing that up-”

“I just mean that it’s not just you in all this, Santana. We’re a team.” 

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

Santana was surprised to see that Quinn looked abashed. “I know you do.”

“Okay, well, then, we’ll just leave it at that. Maybe you could be happy for me?” Santana’s tone was still terse, but she turned her frown into a smile. 

“Of course, Santana, I’m happy for you. Just don’t forget where your loyalties lie.”

“I haven’t.”

“Good. Let’s get to work then.” 


End file.
